LOST IN LAOS
“LAO PDR OFFICIALLY STANDS for Lao People’s Democratic Republic,” says Michael Roehrig of Trails of Indochina, “but really, it stands for Please Don’t Rush.” Languorous like the stately River Mekong that traverses it, this is a destination where two cars on the street counts as a traffic jam. Unless, luxury cars from China are whizzing through Luang Prabang’s quaint, slender streets, their broad, burnished bodies almost grazing the UNESCO-protected town’s heritage edifices. These French-colonial structures are fast becoming hotels, restaurants, bars, and boutiques for tourists, whose numbers near Laos’ seven-million population. And yet, an imperturbable tranquillity pervades Laos. In three weeks, I won’t hear a horn bleat. Nor see a McDonald’s, Starbucks, or smug white Apple store!
My hotel—the latest ultra-luxe abode in the region—the Rosewood Luang Prabang is 15 minutes out of town, and that’s considered far. Michael awaits me at Rosewood’s colonial Great House, which pulsates with elephant motifs evoking Laos’ former name ‘Land of a Million Elephants’ almost in tragic irony. Just 400 elephants survive.
Poaching has exterminated rhinos and crocodiles. Apparently, rhino horns (the Chinese love them) sell at Luang Prabang’s famous Night Market.
Michael has been in Laos for 15 years and is phlegmatic, even about
